08 Safari Adventure

by Willard Price

  ‘See anything?’ asked Crosby.

  ‘No, bwana,’ said the ranger. ‘Except some birds.’

  Crosby looked through the telescope. He let Hal take his place, and then Roger. They could plainly make out some vultures circling over a spot at the edge of a wood. They flew round and round as they usually do over a dying or dead animal.

  ‘Does it mean poachers?’ Hal asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Crosby. ‘It’s only about two miles from our lodge. Surely they wouldn’t dare come that close. But we’ll go down and take a look.’

  They drove to the spot. A large black hulk lay at the edge of a grove of trees. There was no sign of any poacher. As the men stepped out of the car a cloud of vultures rose from the black body and climbed to join the birds circling above.

  ‘Dead rhino,’ said Crosby, and led the way to the side of the fallen animal.

  The animal was more than dead. He was hollow. There was a hole in his side as big as a barrel and his insides were gone. Nothing was left but a big black cave - and a terrible smell.

  The boys stooped and looked into the cave. ‘Poor brute,’ Hal said. ‘Perhaps he fell sick and died and the hyenas, jackals, and vultures chewed this hole in him.’

  ‘Don’t you think poachers might have done it?’

  Hal stood up. ‘Look. There are the bandas in full view. The warden thinks the poachers wouldn’t dare come so close to the lodge.’

  Crosby was studying the animal’s head. That’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘But I was mistaken. Both horns are gone. No animal would chew them off - they’re not good to eat. Poachers took them. And the animal didn’t die a natural death.’ He pointed to a ragged wound in the throat. ‘A spear did that! Now you get some idea of how bold these fellows can be. But you haven’t seen the worst yet. Jump into the car and I’ll show you something that beats all this hollow.’

  After only a few minutes’ drive, the car stopped. This is the Tsavo River,’ Crosby said.

  The boys could see no river. There was nothing but a stretch of rough black rock.

  ‘Have you ever walked on a river?’ said the warden. ‘Now’s your chance.’

  He led the way out on to the bare black area. He stamped on the rock. It gave out a hollow sound. Hal studied the rock.

  ‘It looks like lava,’ he said.

  ‘It is lava. Some time or other it came down from Mount Kilimanjaro and covered the river. The river is still there - under your feet. Now let’s walk downstream.’

  As they walked they heard a rushing sound which steadily grew louder. They rounded a corner and then saw the river, gushing out in great volume and thunder from under the roof of lava. They could feel the roof tremble from the violence of the current. Released from its prison, the stream broadened here to form a large pool or small lake.

  This is call Mzima Springs. The water is usually as clear as glass.’

  It was not clear now. It was reddish brown, and it stank.

  ‘You’ve walked on top of the river,’ the warden said.

  ‘Now I’ll take you under it.’

  He brushed aside the bushes and revealed a slanting hole in the ground. They descended the steep slope in the half darkness and came out into an underwater room.

  This must be the underwater observatory the warden had mentioned. Through windows they could look out into the heart of the river and up to its shimmering sunlit surface.

  They eagerly pressed their noses against the glass. What they saw made them sick. Hippos - but they were not walking on the bottom grazing on the river weeds, they were dead and their carcasses lay in great heaps pressed down by more carcasses on top. Some, inflated by gases, had floated to the surface. Blood still trickled from the deadly wounds made by the poachers. Tails had been cut off, strips of hide had been removed, canine teeth of solid ivory, more valuable for some purposes than elephants’ tusks, had been torn out, in many cases the entire head had been chopped off.

  A few baby hippos, still alive, but nearly dead from starvation, prodded their senseless mothers who could no longer feed them.

  The babies themselves were food for the crocodiles which glided after them, their great jaws wide open. These tender young bodies made a delicious breakfast for the great reptiles. The crocs churned the water with their powerful tails and even fought among themselves for the choicest bits. Hundreds of fish gobbled up fragments of hippo flesh.

  The boys were sober as they climbed out of the observatory. They had been told that such things were happening - but they had to see it to believe it. They had been eager before to help stop the killing of animals by poachers. Now they were determined.

  They returned to the lodge at nine and had breakfast They had seen so much - it hardly seemed possible that they had been out only three hours. Now they must impatiently wait another three hours before their men would arrive and they could make their first expedition against the killers.

  Chapter 7

  Blackbeard appears

  At midday the fourteen lorries, trucks, jeeps, and Land-Rovers of Hal’s safari rolled in.

  Hal’s thirty black safari men, with smiling faces behind a red film of road dust, climbed down. They showed plainly their affection for their young masters and the boys were equally pleased to see them - these fine, stalwart fellows who had been their partners in so many adventures, capturing live animals of every sort for the world’s zoos and circuses.

  The tents of the safari team were erected behind the row of bandas. The kitchen boys of the lodge set up a long table in the open air and loaded it with food.

  The men ate hungrily but hastily because they were eager to get on with the job that they had come to do.

  Warden Crosby addressed them. He told them of the poachers’ camp that he and the boys had seen from the aeroplane seven miles to the west. He told them of the terrible slaughter of animals. He stirred them until they could hardly wait to get at the poachers.

  There were cries of ‘Let’s go,’ ‘Break out the guns,’ ‘We’ll murder them.’

  Crosby held up his hand to quieten the men. I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but that’s the one thing you cannot do. You can’t kill them. You will take no guns with you.’

  ‘But they will have poisoned arrows, and spears,’ objected big Joro, chief tracker. ‘They will try to kill us.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Crosby. ‘And that’s going to make your job dangerous and difficult. You see, there’s a law against killing poachers. They have to be arrested and taken to court. They are tried and the judge fines them or puts them in prison. I know it doesn’t seem fair - they will be well armed and you will not. You must not kill them - you must take them alive. You have had experience in taking animals alive. All right, these are animals -and you must capture them alive just as you would any other savage beast’

  The men were not smiling now. This was going to be worse than they had thought.

  Hal spoke. ‘Men,’ he said, ‘let’s get one thing clear. This is not a part of your regular job. You were not hired for this. If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. Anyone who doesn’t wish to take part has a perfect right to stay here in camp.’

  When the cars started off a few minutes later not one man stayed behind. Hal was very proud of his crew.

  In addition to his men there were five of Crosby’s rangers. The other five were absent, looking for poachers in sections of the park more than a hundred miles away.

  But there was one poacher-hunter perhaps as good as all of the five missing men. This one was not a man, but a dog - Zulu, the big Alsatian belonging to the safari man Mali.

  Zulu had something that no other member of the party had - savage teeth. There was a law against guns. But there was no law against teeth. Zulu didn’t know what this was all about, but he knew it was something great, and he barked excitedly.

  Zulu’s teeth would not be enough to win the battle. Crosby and the boys, sharing the same Land-Rover, discussed the problem as the cars bounced their way westw
ard over the rough trail.

  “There is a chance,’ said Crosby, ‘that they will take fright and run away when they see these fourteen iron monsters roaring in on them.’

  ‘But you don’t want them to run away,’ Hal said. ‘You want to arrest them.’

  ‘Perhaps we can catch the ones who don’t run fast enough. We may not be able to do all we want to do. We will just do what we can. I don’t want to place your men in unnecessary danger.’

  ‘Our men are used to danger,’ Hal said. ‘But do you really think the poachers will run?’

  ‘It all depends. If they have no leader, they will run. If Blackbeard is with them, he will make them stand and fight.’

  Hal had forgotten about Blackbeard, the man of mystery, whose real name was unknown.

  ‘If we could nab him,’ the warden said, ‘that would probably end wholesale poaching in Tsavo.’

  But how to do it? Deadly weapons were not allowed. What weapons could be used that were not deadly? Hal reviewed in his mind the contents of the supply van.

  ‘How about sleep?’ he said suddenly. ‘Does the law say we can’t put them to sleep?’

  Crosby stared. ‘Of course not. But how would you do that?’

  ‘We do it with animals all the time. I don’t know why it wouldn’t work with poachers. If you’ll stop the car and let me out I’ll flag down the supply van and see if we have all the sleep we need.’

  ‘I don’t quite get you,’ said the warden, stopping the car. Hal hopped out. ‘No time to explain now. See you later.’

  In the supply van he busied himself filling several dozen darts with a thin white liquid. The darts looked harmless enough. They were only eight inches long and no larger round than your little finger. At one end of the dart was something like a hypodermic needle. At the other end was a tuft of feathers.

  The van seemed to be twisting and turning. Hal put out his head. The cars had left the trail and were winding their way among termite hills ten to fifteen feet high built by the ‘white ants’.

  The fleet ground to a halt. Ahead was the thorn fence. The warden had stopped his car five hundred yards before reaching the fence and the other drivers had followed his example.

  It would have been foolish to come close. Then the poachers could fire their arrows from behind the fence. Now it would be necessary for them to come out in front of it to attack.

  Hal leaped out with a bucketful of darts. First he went to the warden.

  ‘Will you help me distribute these?’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Darts - filled with dope.’

  ‘Aco? But I told you - we’re not allowed to kill…’

  ‘This won’t kill anybody. It will just put him to sleep. It’s Sernyl - muscular anaesthetic. Our men have used it in catching animals. They find Sernyl a hard word - so we’ve taught them just to call it Sleep. I’ve made enough for us to give each man three darts.’

  The men had piled out of their cars and were looking for the enemy. There was not a poacher to be seen. Beyond the thorn fence among some trees were the poachers’ grass huts, but there was no sign of life - except the life of suffering animals, struggling in snares in the gaps of the fence, raising pitiful cries of pain and terror.

  The boys and the warden distributed the darts. But what good were darts if the poachers had fled?

  The men lined up in front of the cars facing the fence. They were itching to get into action, disappointed at finding no enemy. A few of Hal’s men became impatient and began to edge forward.

  ‘Tell them to stop,’ said the warden. ‘All that ground is probably full of traps.’

  At Hal’s command, the men stepped back into line, grumbling.

  ‘Look,’ cried Roger suddenly, and pointed. Hal looked, and saw nothing. ‘He’s gone already,’ said Roger. ‘I saw him plain as day. He stuck his head out from behind the fence. A man with black whiskers. I ‘d bet it was Blackbeard.’

  Perhaps the kid had just imagined it, Hal thought The boy had Blackbeard on his mind.

  The waiting grew tiresome, but Hal would not let his men move. ‘If there are any fellows hiding behind the fence,’ he told the warden, ‘it’s just as well to let them think we’re afraid to come on.’

  Zulu, the big Alsatian, began to bark furiously. He started to run towards the barricade. His master, Mali, fearing the dog might be caught in a trap, called him back. The dog returned to the line but kept on barking.

  Then a black head appeared in one of the gaps - then another and another.

  “They’re giving us the once-over,’ Hal said. ‘I hope we look harmless.’

  Seeing no guns, the poachers grew bolder. They crept out through the gaps past the dead or dying animals. They were all well armed with spears and bows and arrows. Doubtless every arrow carried its smear of deadly poison. Black figures continued to appear until there were nearly fifty lined up in front of the thorn barrier.

  The poachers stared as if they couldn’t believe their eyes. These fools who had dared to invade their camp held no rifles, no revolvers, no bows, no spears, nothing but some little sticks. One poacher broke out into a laugh. It was taken up all down the line. It grew louder until it was a roar of merriment. Men doubled up with laughter and slapped their thighs and slapped each other and danced. A few arrows came flying, but they fell short.

  The poachers began to pick their way forward, stepping carefully to avoid the traps concealed in the long grass.

  ‘Be ready,’ Hal called to his men, ‘but don’t fire till I tell you.’ Joro repeated the command in Swahili for those who knew little or no English.

  Someone else was giving orders. He was not in the line of advancing poachers. He stood in one of the gaps of the thorn fence. He was not bare-chested and barelegged like the men he commanded. He was dressed in a bush jacket and safari trousers and his whitish face was half concealed by the black beard.

  ‘There he is,’ Roger exclaimed. ‘I told you I saw him. Blackbeard.’

  ‘He’s smart,’ Hal said, ‘to let his men do the fighting and save his own skin.’

  Another sharp order from the man behind. The poachers at once slung their bows over their shoulders and took their spears from the back straps.

  ‘Why do they change to spears?’ Roger wondered.

  The warden said, ‘The arrow is for long-range fighting. At close range the spear is more deadly. They think we’re unarmed - so they can come close. Watch out for those spears. They’re poisoned too.’

  The safari men had their eyes on Hal, waiting for his command to let go. Hal delayed until the poachers were within twenty feet.

  ‘Ready!’ he shouted, and each man raised his dart

  It really looked very silly. The poachers laughed again. Here they were, armed with poisoned spears eight feet long, and their enemy had nothing but toys no longer than pencils.

  It was lucky, Hal thought, that the Sleep darts which his men had used in taking animals in Uganda and the Congo were unknown in this part of Kenya. The poachers were in for a big surprise.

  But at the last moment Hal’s plan was almost ruined. The man with the black beard guessed the secret of those innocent-looking toys. He shouted something in Swahili.

  Joro said, ‘He’s telling them to fall back.’

  It was too late. The poachers were too excited to obey their master’s voice. Victory was almost within their grasp - why should they run now? The command did make them hesitate a moment, and taking advantage of that precious moment Hal shouted, ‘Fire!’

  The darts flew straight, guided by their tail feathers. The needle tips plunged into black flesh. They did not go in more than a quarter of an inch - they didn’t need to. The shock was enough to send the liquid flying into the nerves beneath the skin, and these nerves telegraphed the bad news all over the body.

  The first result was terror. ‘Aco!’ yelled someone. The cry was taken up by others. They all knew Aco, the deadly arrow poison, and supposed at first that this was what had hit
them.

  They hastily plucked out the darts. They saw that the liquid dripping from the needles was white. They knew that Aco was a brownish black. So this was not Aco.

  This discovery gave them no comfort. Probably this stuff was something new, even worse than Aco.

  Whatever it was, it acted faster than arrow poison. It went straight for the muscles and turned them into dish-rags. Legs that were strong a moment ago became weak and refused to hold up the body. The drug - plus fear -paralysed the muscles.

  Those who could run, ran - but soon fell in their tracks. Some blundered blindly into traps that they had set for the animals. Some who had not been hit at all were so overcome by the general fright that they fell where they stood and prepared to die. A few of the braver spirits plunged forward and seriously injured three of the safari men with their sharp spears before they themselves were overcome by the numbing effect of Sleep.

  Presently the place looked more like a bedroom than a battle-ground. Everywhere sleeping bodies sprawled in the grass. Even those caught in the cruel traps did not cry out with pain, for they were unconscious.

  Two who had run so well that they had almost reached the thorn fence were brought down by Zulu. Now they also were asleep. ‘Into the Power-wagon,’ Hal ordered. ‘Into the cage.’ The Power-wagon was the truck generally used for carrying captured animals. In it was a huge elephant cage. The happy safari men and rangers dragged the sleeping poachers to the cage and thrust them in.

  Wire snares that had trapped some runaways were easily removed. It was not so easy to open the lion traps and elephant traps. These were like the bear traps sometimes used in American forests, but larger and stronger. The teeth of the trap caught a man’s ankle and dug in fiercely.

  The warden, trying to free a sleeper from such a trap, called Hal and Roger.

  ‘You remember I told you about two of my rangers who were caught in traps and eaten alive? You may have wondered why they couldn’t free themselves. After all, a man has something the average animal doesn’t have -two hands. Well, try to open that trap with your hands.’